“Miss Barr, please read this letter aloud tothe court.”
In her best singsong voice, Edie read aloudwith the confidence that Seamus Baldwin had given her:
Dear sweetest one:
I know how impossible it is to love someone
so far above one’s station. I know also the pain ofwatching you
close up every day of my life. I see your beautiful,manly face
and your shining hair and your glinting eye as youwalk ever so
elegantly down the stairs each morning. I follow youthrough the
day with my heart aflutter and my breathing stinted.I swoon at
the sound of your voice, as pure as poetry, aslilting as an Irish
tenor’s. Your laugh turns me giddy and one glancefrom your
sea-blue eyes is enough to carry me through anentire week. O
my precious and unattainable knight!
Your faithful admirer
Betsy
The effect on the courtroom was electric. Gasps ofdisbelief. Sighs of disappointment. Tuts of revulsion. Here at lastwas the direct connection between Seamus Baldwin and thelove-struck teenager. Perhaps it hadn’t been rape after all. It hadbeen worse, much worse. The brute had seduced her in that uglyhorse-stall, and she had not resisted. Surely they had beencarrying on their illicit affair for over two months! Endingtragically in abortion, death, and now disgrace.
“Is this Betsy Thurgood’s hand as you knowit?”
“Yes, sir, it is. And I saw her write thisletter. She asked me to look over and check her spellin’ and commasand the like.”
“I see. So even though there is no date onthis letter, you can tell us when it was penned?”
“Yes, sir. About the middle ofSeptember.”
So, Marc thought, Edie had known about theletter and had deliberately left it where Cobb could find it. Butwhy?
“Do you have an opinion as to who this personis? The one whom Betsy admired ‘faithfully’?”
“Milord!”
“I’m going to allow it, Mr. Edwards. MissBarr knew Miss Thurgood well. They shared a room and much else, itappears.”
“It has to be Uncle Seamus, doesn’t it?” Ediesaid.
“Why would you say that?”
“Well, it says here it’s someone she sees inthe house every day. And that ‘shinin’ hair’ could only be UncleSeamus’s big white hair, couldn’t it?”
“Why, then, would she call him a knight?”
“Oh, Betsy was always livin’ in a dreamworld, seein’ knights in shinin’ armour and all that sort ofnonsense.”
“Did Betsy ever confide in you that it wasSeamus Baldwin she admired and was in love with?”
“No, sir,” Edie, mindful of Robert Baldwin’sadmonitions, said with some reluctance. “I did ask, but shewouldn’t tell.”
“Did you ever see Betsy and Seamus Baldwin ina romantic embrace?”
“No, sir. Just the teasin’ and stuff. And itwas a crowded house. There ain’t any secrets in it.”
“What about outdoors? Could they have met onthe grounds?”
Edie pushed out her dainty lower lip,reflected a moment and said, “They could’ve, though Uncle Seamusonly went outside to play his pipes at picnics or to go fishin’ upby the mill in the little ravine there. Sometimes he told us he’dgo up to the other pool, past the dam, but Mr. Whittle liked tofish there even though he was forbidden to, and Uncle Seamus likedhis privacy.”
“Privacy, eh? At the trout pool below themill? The one we’ve already heard about? And the same mill whereBetsy took her father’s lunch every day?”
“That’s right.”
With images of forbidden rendezvous in softgrasses beside still trout pools floating through the minds of thejurors, Neville Cambridge sat down, much pleased.
Marc stood up. “Miss Barr, that is a loveletter you have in hand, is it not? A love letter to a whiteknight?”
“Sounds that way,” Edie said, curling herlip. She did not appear apprehensive, but rather looked as if shewere anticipating yet another scene in the drama she hadenvisaged.
“Did you ever write a letter like this?” Marcsaid sternly.
Edie hesitated.
“May I remind you that you are underoath.”
“Might have.”
“More than one?”
More curling of lip. “Maybe. I guess so.Yes.”
“You have several lovers, then, do you?”
There was a collective intake of breath atthis abrupt accusation.
Edie flinched but held onto the railing. “No,sir, I do not. I’m a proper lady.”
“Then why and under what circumstances wouldyou have penned a love letter like the one written by Betsy?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. You’reconfusin’ me.”
“Did you and Betsy read romances? Fairytales?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Edie hadpushed her lower up and over her upper one.
“Don’t young girls when they’re learning towrite, often practice penning letters, letters they have nointention of sending to anyone?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Edie scowled at Marc, herjaw set.
“Milord, I’d like Miss Barr declared ahostile witness.”
The galleries were shocked. After all, Ediewas only sixteen and very blond and, surely, innocent.
“Granted,” said the judge. “Miss Barr, youmust answer Mr. Edwards’ questions if you know theanswer.”
Edie hung her head, uncertain of what was tocome but braced for the worst.
“I suggest, Miss Barr,” Marc said with asharp edge to his voice, “that you and Betsy, as young girls willdo, sat together in your room and wrote many letters of thisnature, practising the epistolary lessons that Seamus Baldwin sokindly offered to you girls. Isn’t that not so?”
Edie nodded gloomily.
“Please answer yes or no,” the judgesaid.
“Yes,” Edie mumbled.
“And you two did read romance novelsgenerously supplied to you from the Baldwins’ extensivelibrary?”
“Yes.”
“And you talked about and fantasized a whiteknight in shining armour who, like those in the fairy tales, wouldcome and rescue you from your daily toil?”
“Yes.”
“And I put it to you, Miss Barr, that you andBetsy sat together and composed this letter, and that you did morethan read it over for errors. Is that not so?”
Edie began to tremble. “I did read it ferspellin’!”
“But you also helped to write it, didn’t you?You made suggestions as you went along?”
Edie hung her pretty head. “Yes,” shebreathed.
“You may even have had Uncle Seamus in mind,eh? Not because Betsy was romantically attracted to him, butbecause you yourself were! It was you who were in love with UncleSeamus, wasn’t it? And when he failed to return your love andseemed to be grieving overly much at Betsy’s death, you gave thisletter to the police to spite him.”
“No! No! Stop! Please.”
The cry came not from the witness-box butfrom the dock, and Uncle Seamus. The courtroom was stunned. Thejudge looked up sternly, but did not have to speak. Uncle Seamushad slumped into the arms of the deputy bailiff, all passionspent.
Edie Barr burst into tears, devastating herblond prettiness.
“Counsellor, that is enough,” cried thejudge. “You’ve overstepped your bounds. And you’ve made yourpoint.”
“No more questions, Milord.”
Cambridge glanced over at Marc, then peeredover at the jury. They did not look pleased with the defensecounsel’s performance, having been moved, like the spectators, byUncle Seamus’s heartfelt cry.
“I have no further questions of thiswitness,” he said.
Behind him, Marc heard Robert whisper, “Marc,you cannot keep doing it this way.”
“We’re almost there, Robert.”
But where was there?
***
Just as Marc was expecting the judge to adjourn thecourt until the afternoon, when the defense would begin presentingits case, Justice Powell called the two attorneys to the bench. Itwas Neville Cambridge who spoke, however.
“Milord, some new evidence pertinent to theCrown’s case has just been handed to me. I’d like to look it overand make a decision as to whether to call another witness.”
“Is that witness available?”
“Yes, sir. It would be Dr. WilliamBaldwin.”
Marc paled. What on earth was Cambridge upto? Was he calling Dr. Baldwin deliberately to blunt Marc’sintention to use him as a character witness? But Cambridge could goat him at leisure in his cross examination. Character testimony waswide open. More importantly, what was this new evidence?
“I’d like to see this evidence,” Marcsaid.
“Of course,” Cambridge said cheerfully. “Butonly after I’ve assessed its probative value. Its precise use, I’mafraid, will only be made clear when Dr. Baldwin responds to myquestions concerning it.”
“Then, as it may affect the presentation ofmy case,” Marc said to the judge, “I’ll need extra time toprepare.”
“If you do, sir, we’ll postpone defensewitnesses until tomorrow morning.”
With that, Marc was left to fret and stewover the long, long lunch-hour.
***
Horatio Cobb was still steaming. He had had anear-sleepless night as his conscience fought with his indignationfor supremacy. To make matters worse, he had had to sit through themorning session and watch Marc Edwards further dismantle theCrown’s case. The Chief had ordered Cobb to attend the entiretrial, feeling that Cobb as a future detective ought to sit andobserve what happened to evidence when barristers got hold of it.It was not a pretty sight. The only positive thing to come out ofthe morning, though, was the fact that Marc had gone too far, hadbeen hoist on his own petard.
Still, Marc’s accusation in the wig-roomrankled, not so much the charge that he was driven by ambition(because he simply was not) but the claim that he had not done hisjob properly. After a night of arguing with himself, he had startedto accept, grudgingly, the possibility that he had indeed begun hisinvestigation with a prime suspect in mind and had set out merelyto prove or disprove that assumption. What if he had ignored JakeBroom and started with the opposite notion: that someone other thanUncle Seamus had committed the rape? Would he still not haveeliminated the six-foot Sol Clift, the slicked-down redhead, JoeMullins, and of course Jake Broom himself who was not stupid enoughto get himself hanged by going to the police and accusing aprominent gentleman of a crime no-one had reported.
Nonetheless, at noon, he returned to theChief’s office – Sturges was home ill – and sat there for half anhour going over all his interviews and the testimony he had, as washis custom, automatically memorized. When the solution came itstruck him like a tornado on a house of straw. He shouted, “I’vegot it!” so loudly that Gussie French’s pen jabbed into thedocument he was writing on and its ink spurted up onto hischin.
Cobb was now sure how the crime had beencommitted. And he knew what he had to do – quickly.
***
At three o’clock the Crown called Dr. WilliamBaldwin as its final witness. At Baldwin House there had been muchdiscussion and more speculation about what the Crown was up to. Dr.Baldwin, perhaps the city’s most illustrious and beloved citizen,seemed as puzzled as anyone else. And, Marc noticed, there lurkedin him some uncharacteristic unease, anxiety even.
Dr. Baldwin was sworn in. If it was possiblefor the onlookers to be any more riveted than they had heretoforebeen, it was now.
Cambridge began by waving a sheet of paper inthe air. “Milord, I have here a letter which I would like to enterinto evidence as Exhibit C.”
The clerk brought the letter to the judge,who had already read it. He nodded and it was returned toCambridge. Marc, too, had read it a few minutes before, and couldnot yet see its relevance. But he was certainly worried.
“This letter,” Cambridge continued, “is dateda month ago and is addressed to Bishop Strachan of this city. Itlay unopened for over a week, having got lost among the Bishop’smany papers. It was read by the Bishop only this morning. He haskindly attested to these facts.”
“Carry on, then,” said the judge.
“The letter was written by one D’Arcy Boylan,a prominent barrister in the City of Cork, Ireland.”
The Baldwin clan, including of course UncleSeamus, were from the Cork region of Ireland. Marc held hisbreath.
“It is addressed to Bishop Strachan. I wouldask the witness to read aloud only that part I have marked with apencil.”
The letter was taken to Dr. Baldwin. The lookof concern on his face had deepened. He read: